


Don't Make Me THAT Match

by CallistoNicol



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, and several puns I'm not at all sorry about, brand new shenanigans, featuring familiar shenanigans, matchmaker, sifkiweek2020, title inspired by Matchmaker Matchmaker Make Me a Match
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallistoNicol/pseuds/CallistoNicol
Summary: "You don’t have a soulmate.”“Excuse me?”“You don’t have a soulmate, because the one for you has no soul.”
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel), sifki
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	Don't Make Me THAT Match

Going to see the Matchmaker wasn’t spoken of, but eventually everyone did it. There was no such thing as a soulmate, of course, but everyone who went to her doorstep ended up suspiciously happy within the year, and to Sif’s knowledge, no couple the Matchmaker paired together had ever parted ways. So after a particularly nasty fight with Loki, when Fandral dared her to visit the old crone, Sif figured it couldn’t do any harm and might do her a fair bit of good.

“Find me love,” Sif said, tossing her offering of a frozen bilgesnipe carcass onto the Matchmaker’s table. What the Matchmaker could possibly want with such a foul gift Sif did not try to imagine, but if it guaranteed her a happily ever after, she would follow tradition.

“Thank you, Shieldmaiden,” the old woman said with glee, her gnarled hands stroking the frozen carcass. Sif had to fight to keep her nose from wrinkling. 

With a snap the carcass disappeared. Sif tried to pretend she wasn’t impressed with the woman’s magic, but she was. She was always impressed with anyone who could do magic. 

Moving her gnarled hands in a mystical manner Sif associated with the magical arts, the old Matchmaker closed her eyes and started chanting in an unfamiliar language. Sif leaned forward, hoping this was the magic that would lead her to love. 

It wasn’t very long before the Matchmaker’s eyes flew open and a flash of green smoke filled the room. Sif was very impressed. She hoped the short deliberation meant her love had been easy to find. 

“You don’t have a soulmate,” the Matchmaker declared, and Sif’s stomach dropped to her toes.

“Excuse me?” she asked hesitantly, hoping it was some grand mistake. 

“You don’t have a soulmate,” the Matchmaker repeated, “because the one for you doesn’t have a soul.”

And that was that. 

Back at the palace, Sif threw herself into an armchair next to her friends. “I got matched with Loki,” she said sourly. Four sets of wide eyes met hers. Thor went so far as to drop his jaw. “My soulmate has no soul. There’s no one that can be except Loki.”

Thor moved his jaw like he wanted to defend his brother, but considering Loki had stabbed him again just this morning after once more swearing he would never stab his brother, the words never quite made it out. Sif understood. Hadn’t Loki just permanently dyed her hair after spending weeks praising its golden hue? Fingering her midnight locks, Sif once again cursed Loki into oblivion. Better for him to be there than to ever be close enough to fulfill his role as her soulmate. 

Except…

Hildegund walked by at that moment. Spying Volstagg, she snuck up on him and planted a kiss, then danced away as Volstagg sighed and stared like the besotted man he was. 

The Matchmaker had paired the two of them up, and now they were blissfully, sickeningly, nauseatingly happy together. Sif yearned, just a teensy bit, to have what they had. 

“Gross, mate,” Fandral said, slugging Volstagg in the shoulder. “I need to burn my eyes.”

Volstagg chortled. “Not nearly as gross as you slobbering over every female you see,” he said cheerfully. “We put up with that behaviour.” He eyed Sif, then said to Fandral, “Maybe you ought to visit the Matchmaker, give the rest of us a bit of a reprieve.”

“And put an end to my days of delighting every maiden I come across?” Fandral asked, mock offended. “Think of the women, Volstagg! I can’t disappoint them!”

“Maybe you should marry Sif,” Hogun interrupted. “Save her from her fate.”

Sif eyed Fandral, who was busy making kissing faces at her. Her lips curled; as annoying as Loki was, she’d pick him and his terrible tricks over Fandral any day. “I’m off to yell at my soulmate,” she said, standing up. “Got to let him know up front who’s in charge.”

She found Loki in his apartments, mixing one gooey substance with another. It smelled rancid; she wrinkled her nose. How could Loki bear to stand so close to such a vile smelling substance? He was concentrating so hard on what he was doing, he did not notice her. She smiled deviously; time for payback. 

If she knew anything about magic, she would have tailored her attack to disrupt his work in the most annoying way possible. Lacking any sort of magical prowess, she opted for kicking the table so hard it fell over, splatting his foul-smelling substances all over the floor. His eyes flashed to hers, anger making his pale features a bright red. “SIF!” he bellowed. “You just ruined three years worth of work!”

Reaching up to pat her newly dark tresses, Sif shrugged saucily and said, “Did I?”

His angry eyes took in her hair, now black thanks to his evil machinations, and she knew he knew he deserved the mess pooling at his feet. If he were Fandral or Hogun, he’d have the good sense to know tit for tat had been met and this prank war was over. Being Loki, he was a helmet short of full armour and was obviously planning his retaliation. Sif yawned theatrically. She knew his revenge would be swift, sharp, and sure to raise her ire, but let him think she did not care. 

Waggling her fingers at him, Sif sauntered out his room with a smirk.

* * *

Two days later, Loki made his move. 

Sif was standing alone in the training yard, a rare occurrence, for one of the Warriors Three was usually with her by now. Hearing footsteps, she turned to find Loki, looking smug with a malicious gleam in his eye. Immediately wary, Sif balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to dodge or attack at a moment’s notice. 

“I’ve put treemendous effort into finding you,” he said languidly. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Sif said. “You know exactly where to find me.”

“True. I just follow the bark of your voice.” She eyed him strangely, not quite sure what he was getting at. “You’re so poplar, it was easy to do.”

Was he… making tree jokes? “I’m going out on a limb here,” she said, “and assuming you’re trying to… pun me to death?”

“You wood not beleaf how difficult it is,” he said. 

“Now that’s acorn-y joke.” 

Loki almost grinned, Sif was pleased to see, but he quickly scrubbed his face of the emotion and took one step back. Sif adjusted her weight forward to match. 

“I’m board now,” he said. “Let’s get this o-fir with.” He chanted a string of words in a foreign tongue unfamiliar to Sif. Dropping her heels to the ground, Sif planted herself, ready to go on the offensive. She tried to take a step forward, but her feet would not move. Looking down, she saw rough bark racing up her legs, quickly overtaking her whole body. “Stumped?” Loki said smugly. 

“I will kill you,” she growled just as the bark covered her lips.

She was a tree, a damn tree in the middle of the training yards, and she couldn’t move a muscle. Ohh, when she got out of this mess her bite was going to be _so_ much worse than her bark.

Loki approached, placing one hand on her trunk approximately where her waist would be. “Blessed silence,” he said. “I like this timber of your voice so much better.”

She growled at him, but it came out as the gentle swaying of her limbs. 

He was going to die. 

* * *

It was midday before the Einherjar decided what to do with Sif—or rather, the tree they didn’t know was her. She was in their way and clearly no offshoot of Yggdrasil, so the obvious choice was to cut her down.

Sif started screaming long before the axe bit into her side. 

The weapon only struck once. Through the pain, she could barely make out muffled voices. There was some yelling, some shuffling, and then Sif, Aesir once more, collapsed into a puddle of her own blood. Eir was there in an instant, working her healing magic as she muttered about halfwits misusing magic. 

“Where’s—Loki—” Sif gasped through the pain. 

“Right here, darling,” and Loki was at her side, holding her hand and brushing back her hair. Outwardly, he was the picture of concern, offering his fallen companion strength and support. In the distance, Sif heard more than one Einherjar make a sappy comment about it.

But she was staring at his eyes, triumphant as he gloated over her. 

“How did you come to discover the tree was more than a tree?” Eir demanded as her fingers danced along Sif’s side, pulling flesh together and stitching it up.

“It became rather obvious when the tree started spewing blood,” Loki said, just enough concern lacing his tone that Eir did not think twice about his involvement. 

“— _Die_ —” Sif hissed, trying to threaten Loki. He grinned at her.

Eir clucked her tongue. “You’re not going to die,” she said. “Honestly, Lady Sif, you’ve suffered worse in battle. Two more minutes and you’ll be good as new.”

Already Sif could feel her strength returning. Loki could see it, too, and backed up. “I must report on this to my father,” he lied to Eir. “I leave her in your capable hands.”

“Yes, go,” Eir said impatiently.

You can run but you can’t hide, Sif thought, imagining daggers impaling Loki’s back. Soon. 

* * *

Sif waited to exact her revenge until Loki was surrounded by family, friends, and subjects. He needed an audience for his humiliation. He, of course, thought he was safe, guarded as he was by the Allmother and Allfather. Foolish; he should know by now Odin rarely interfered with their pranks, and Frigga believed in consequences.

Thor greeted her with a shout, echoed by the Warriors Three, but Sif was not here for them. Striding up to Loki, Sif did not stop until she was close enough to kiss him. Raising her left hand, she traced his lips. “You have a wicked mouth,” she murmured. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated. Good. 

In one sweeping move, she knocked his legs out from underneath him, pounced on his chest, and stabbed his lips with a sharp needle threaded with Eir’s best suture. He tried to demand to know what she was doing, but Sif sewed his lips shut too quickly for Loki to do more than grunt a half-formed word. Tiny droplets of blood ran down his chin. Tying off the suture, she patted his mouth. “Much better,” she said, tucking the needle into his collar and rolling off him to go join her friends. 

The hall was quiet, but Sif paid the audience no attention as she chatted with Fandral about the proper way to oil armour. 

The silence of the onlookers worked to her benefit, for Sif heard Loki shuffle forward and pounce. She was half turned, dagger in hand, by the time Loki landed, his hands also full of daggers. It was a quick duel, fueled by passion and rage rather than skill, and ended with knives touching both of their throats. 

Of course, Sif could smirk while Loki was stuck with bleeding, sewn lips. “Need something, darling?” she taunted. He inched his dagger closer, barely breaking the surface of her skin. She felt a droplet of blood roll down her throat. Responding in kind, Sif shoved her blade in far enough that he might lose his voice box if he so much as twitched.

Two hands came out of nowhere and latched onto Sif’s left ear and Loki’s right. They belonged to the Allmother, and Frigga yanked, sending searing pain shooting through Sif’s head. Her dagger clattered to the ground along with Loki’s. “Really, children, you’re making a scene,” Frigga said. “Take this nonsense elsewhere. Thor, referee them. Should one die, you are responsible for burying the corpse.”

“How did this become my problem?” Thor grumbled. 

“Now,” Frigga ordered. She dropped her hands—Sif clutched at her ear, attempting to soothe the pain—and Thor pushed Sif and Loki away from the crowd until they reached the gardens.

“I’m hungry,” Thor complained, “so make this quick or I’ll eat you both.”

“Mmm gmmphf hmmm,” Loki growled, his words unintelligible behind his sutures.

“He said you’d have to catch us first,” Sif interpreted.

“Perfect, you understand him. You’re halfway there,” Thor said.

“Halfway to where?” Sif demanded.

“To admitting you’re in love with each other. I thought it crazy when Volstagg pointed it out, but I think he might be onto something.” Backing up several paces, Thor folded his arms across his expansive chest. “Hop to it.”

Sif glared at him, but he just pointed at his stomach, which growled on cue. It was a little funny, but Sif refused to laugh. Turning to face Loki, she found his nose ridiculously high in the air as he refused to look at her. Reaching up, Sif grabbed his sharp nose and jerked his face down toward hers. “You are not better than me,” she said fiercely.

His look clearly said he thought he was. 

“I’m not apologizing,” she said, looking at his lips. “You hacked into me with an axe.”

A huff of air expelled through his nose. “I did not deserve it!” she exclaimed. “That stench you claim was a potion clearly needed to be exterminated. I did you a favour.” A snort, this time. “Don’t try and tell me I’m wrong; three years worth of work, my left buttock. If you really did work on it for three years, you should be thanking me for saving you from publicly sharing that colossal mistake.” Loki rolled his eyes, lips straining against the sutures as he desperately tried to speak, but Sif’s handiwork held. The stitches were tiny but strong and performed their job admirably. Really, her mother should be proud. It was Sif’s first ever female accomplishment.

Suddenly Loki’s hand was on her hair. Sif slapped it away. “Well, you should feel regret for this,” she snapped. “I had hair more golden than Thor’s, and now my midnight locks give yours a run for their money.” Loki looked deeply satisfied, his fingers trailing along his own hair. Sif took a tiny step back in shock. “You _wanted_ me to match you?” His eyes turned wary as he looked away from her. Sif touched her own hair, realizing for the first time that she and Loki were a striking pair with their dark hair, so unusual in Asgard. She had never considered Loki’s prank might be intentional, meant for anything other than to humiliate her.

“Huh,” she said.

“Are you done yet?” Thor demanded. 

“Shut up,” they said in sync, though Loki’s came out as a strained noise. She knew what he had meant.

Tapping his lips, Loki looked at her in frustration, and Sif found she wanted to hear his words. Taking his hand, she tugged him after her as she started for the healing halls. He resisted until she said, “I had the sutures and needle spelled, so Eir has to undo it.” He stopped resisting, following along eagerly. Thor growled something unfavorable about the pair of them, then hurried to follow. 

In Eir’s office, the healer made quick work of undoing Sif’s handiwork. Once free of the restraint, Loki stretched his lips as if testing for permanent damage. Sif found it strangely enticing and struggled to look away. “Thank you,” she said to Eir, who merely rolled her eyes and shooed the three of them out. 

“I would be impressed if I wasn’t the recipient of your ire,” Loki told her. 

“You should be impressed anyway,” she replied. “I’m impressive.”

“I’m just glad you two have never joined forces,” Thor rumbled. “Imagine the havoc you would wreak.”

Sif and Loki shared a considering look. They would certainly be formidable…

“Stop. Stop it right now,” Thor said.

Loki offered Sif his hand. “We would make excellent partners in crime.”

“The best,” she answered, placing her hand in his. His fingers curled around hers, and it felt right. 

“I declare you two made up. I’m going to dinner,” Thor said, and left.

Sif looked at her hand wrapped carefully in Loki’s. “You know,” she said slowly, “we could make excellent partners in other ways.”

“I know,” he said solemnly. “I’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, narrowing at his sincerity. “You have a funny way of gaining my attention,” she said, pointing to her hair. 

He shrugged. “Roundabout, but it worked eventually, no?”

She considered kissing him, but his chin was covered with blood. They may be low, but she had standards. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said. “I have plans for you.”

Loki took a moment to think this over, staring intently at her. At last he grinned. “I think I’ll let you have your way this once.”

She was sure he’d let her have her way many times in the future. 

* * *

After several months, Sif returned to the Matchmaker, a frown on her face. She waited patiently for the old woman to give her entrance, a knowing gleam in the woman’s eyes. Once seated on the floor, Sif scowled. “You were wrong,” she said. “You told me my soulmate didn’t have a soul. Ridiculous, because Loki _has_ a soul. It’s surprisingly beautiful.”

“Loki, eh?” the old crone cackled. “Interesting. I said nothing about the second prince.”

“You said my soulmate didn’t have a soul, which obviously meant Loki,” Sif retorted.

The Matchmaker hmmed. “Interesting choice.”

“Choice? You pointed me in his direction!”

The Matchmaker grinned. It looked almost grotesque on her wrinkled face. “Silly child, didn’t you know soulmates aren’t real? I was mad at the younger prince, and thought you might be an appropriate affliction.”

Sif wasn’t quite sure how to she ought to feel about that.

“And if I also secretly thought you’d be an excellent match, well, isn’t life interesting?”


End file.
